


who left you so?

by iamnassau



Category: The Hunger - Alma Katsu
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Caretaking, Comfort Sex, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mild Choking Kink, Open Marriage, Pining, boys trip!, james reed-typical angst anxiety and hand kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27560206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnassau/pseuds/iamnassau
Summary: But the man is as self-righteous as they come. Why Will would latch onto him, he still doesn’t know. Reed is starchy, egotistical, and anxiety-ridden. Not to mention his interest in a man who’s spent the better part of these last three months tormenting him. Snyder must have no idea, which is probably for the better. It doesn’t seem right that Reed would take a liking to someone like that. Eleanor says he’s jealous.
Relationships: James Reed/John Snyder (mentioned), William Eddy/James Reed, background William Eddy/Eleanor Eddy
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6





	who left you so?

**Author's Note:**

> idk what to say for myself happy reed's birthday

They call for a small hunting party. Only two men needed, one to do the actual hunting and one to watch his back, due in part to fears of whatever most of them now know is stalking the group. Will figures he’ll volunteer for it, bring along his use-worn rifle and search for game. Not that it will prove fruitful, but he could use a few days away from the wagon train.

The first man to volunteer is prickly, miniscule James Reed. Will laughs at that along with some of the men, and he gets a nasty glare for it in particular, he figures because Reed already knows who he’ll be going with. He isn’t stupid, Will can attest, at least.

“I’ll go with him,” he says, and Donner and the others agree easily, leave them be with the promise of a morning departure tomorrow. Reed turns away from him, back to his tent before he can say another word either cordial or mocking. Will watches him go, probably to tell his wife and kids that he’ll be gone a while, and sees how straight he holds himself, how stiff. He looks a while longer before returning to his own tent. Eleanor was outside during the announcement, knew his plan to join if there were ever a hunting party organized, so he starts packing a rucksack immediately once inside instead of informing her.

“Reed’s going?” she questions, looking up from the skirt she’s stitching. It had been ripped up a bit when Keseberg stepped on it ‘accidentally’ and she hasn’t gotten the chance to fix it until now. He nods. “And you two will be alone?” Another nod. “Will you speak to him then, you think?”

“Well, I’ll try. But you know how he is.” Eleanor makes a noise of dissent, and he looks over to find her brows raised. 

“He’s not as difficult as he wants you all to think. And plus, I haven’t been watching him like you have, Will.”

“Hush, you.” He reaches over and lightly pinches her arm, and she pinches him back. “He’ll be offended that I’ve even given him a onceover.” He sits up straight in a fascimile of Reed’s posturing. “A yokel like him? Why I’d never!” His faint accent is hard to mimic, but Eleanor laughs anyway, and now that he’s finished packing, he can join her by their makeshift bed. He kisses her gently. “And anyway, he’s occupied following the teamster around. Probably partial to men built like him.”

“I think you’re bigger than Snyder.”

They talk between kisses, Eleanor squeezing his shoulders lackadaisically. “Don’t flatter me, Nell.”

She rolls her eyes. “You are, and anyhow, at least twice a better suitor. You have the upper hand on that- just kiss him, I reckon he’ll see the superiority for himself.” With such a dry tone as she frequently takes on, anyone else might think she was fooling, but he knows better, kisses her again. And it doesn’t really matter how tall he is, or how good a kisser he is, because he knows Reed is at least intrigued by him, even if just the slightest bit. It perturbs him, how similar the way Reed looks at him is to the way he looks at Snyder. Unhappily, is the main thing, and with anticipation. But directed at Snyder it seems a more acute reaction, maybe because Reed likes him more, or because he’s less likely to reciprocate.

After a moment, Eleanor pushes at his chest gently. “But be kind, Will. Be kind to him when you’re out there.” He starts to speak, but she hushes him. “I know you want a chase, but you can’t let him think you don’t respect him. He doesn’t get respect here, you know he’s not well-liked.”

“Well maybe that’s ‘cause he doesn’t give anybody reason to like him.” Eleanor stares at him. “Except for me. But I only really feel sorry for him.” She blinks, raises a brow, and he feels the accusatory weight of that look profoundly. “Well- alright, maybe it’s something else. Listen. I’ll try.”

She shakes her head at him, finishes up her sewing, and kisses his temple when she goes out to retrieve the children from Mrs. Murphy. When she opens the tent flap, a breeze comes in, and he wishes they could take a walk together in the cool night, or that maybe he could ask Reed to come with him, but they should both turn in early tonight to be ready for the hike they’ll be taking tomorrow.

In the morning, he only has time to kiss Eleanor and the children goodbye with Reed hovering outside in expectation of him. He’s especially antsy this morning, sweeping his hand through his hair and swiping away at his face with that handkerchief of his.

When he goes to bid his wife goodbye, Eleanor lets him kiss her but keeps his head close with a hand on his neck. “Be safe, and tell him,” she whispers, and Will nods, which is as good as a promise to her.

The walk out to a suitable clearing is grueling, not for the terrain or the route, but because of Reed. He finds the path difficult, huffing and straining as they scale a decently steep incline. He’s not an outdoorsman, and his build surely makes it more difficult to keep up, but there’s something past that. Will is certain his damned Sunday suit has something to do with it. He’s been dabbing at his forehead quite often as the heat rises through the later morning, but he doesn’t disrobe. 

Will is huffing too, out of annoyance mostly. The upper-crust mannerisms of his are sometimes beguiling, but now it’s out of stubbornness, not to mention that his pace is slowing them down. But he won’t say anything, at least not until they settle in and become a little more familiar. Even though as of yet, it doesn’t look like Reed wants there to be any familiarity between them at all. He keeps entire yards behind Will, and he’s sure it’s on purpose. Still bitter about the rationing comments, probably.

They eventually find the area described by one of the native guides in another train Donner had come across before they’d split off. It’s scenic, with a nearby stream that might help mask their noises should any animals come near the camp. He doubts they’ll find anything substantial, but there is some grass, enough that a deer or a rabbit might mosey on by. He sets up the tent by a tree stump he can perch on and takes Reed’s things from him to store inside. The other man protests at first, although the items slip right into Will’s hands; he must be tired after such a taxing walk. He hasn’t stopped breathing hard yet, and Will watches him with concern now as he washes his hands and face in the stream, shoulders heaving almost imperceptibly.

When he comes back to sit by the tent, Will tries to think of anything interesting to say, but it doesn’t happen. “You alright?”

“Sure.” The same clipped exchange they’ve been having for the last two hours. 

He frowns. “Maybe you should eat something.”

“I have to save my supplies.” So he is still on about rationing. 

Will purses his lips, looks at his own sack. “Why don’t you take something from my bag? I’ve got some dried meat to spare.” One of his oxen had died in the night about a week back, and although concerning, he’d taken to butchering it with relish, knowing that it would at least make more than a few good meals.

Reed’s lips part, his eyes wide and wary, water still beading in his neat beard. Will averts his eyes to a tree with a suddenly deeply interesting hole in its trunk. “Thank you, but I think I’ll be alright. Just need a rest.”

Will nods, picks up a branch to whittle at as he disappears into the tent. “Thinks he’ll be alright. Might be just fine, in fact,” he mutters under his breath so that Reed won’t hear him, cutting the wood to a point. 

In the early afternoon, Reed awakes and comes back out to snack on some kind of cake he’s brought, and he offers a bit to Will, sleep-addled and earnest. Still awfully infatuated with him, he takes a small piece so as not to offend Reed but not enough to feel like he’s stealing. Once again he offers a strip of the oxen, and Reed takes it this time, hovering over his food like he thinks a vulture will come snatch it from him. It reminds Will of a little German girl he’d watched over for her parents once, and he reconsiders Reed’s status, something he’s never thought to ask about. Beyond his business endeavors and the cushy wagon his family owns, he knows very little about Reed’s life before the train.

It’s at this time that Will notices his hands are scrubbed raw. He knows what it is because he’s seen Reed’s compulsion with his handkerchief, but he never gets close enough to see any injuries or maybe it’s never been this bad. But his hands are red and dry on the backs, his palms even worse. “Your hands,” he says, and Reed draws them back quick to tuck under his arms. “Let me, I’ve got something for it.” A tin of calendula salve Eleanor had been gifted by Tamsen Donner, and swiftly handed over to Will, because she’d known he’d be handling rope and rifles and all sorts of things that might hurt him. He takes it out of his pocket, reaching out to hand the tin to him before he remembers that Reed really only has one hand free, neither of them very steady. Will feels himself growing a wee bit twitchy over it. “I’ll put it on for you,” he decides aloud, gestures for Reed’s right hand first, the one without food in it.

“I- Why?”

“You look like you stuck your hands in hot oil. Let me see.”

Reed glares. “I can handle it myself just as well. Don’t coddle me.”

“Yeah, well you haven’t handled it. And I’m right here.” They make eye contact and stare at each other for a while- unbeknownst to Reed, Will’s irritation is lessened by the view- and Reed turns away first. He swings his hand out, still jumping when Will lets his own come up under for it to rest on. He’s going to say something snide when he sees the look on Reed’s face, and it dies in his throat. Gazing between Will and his raw knuckles with a look evolving between disgust and disappointment and fear. He is much more gentle with Reed than he would be with himself because he’s delicate in constitution, and because he’s in a state about something, and because it allows Will to touch him and savor it. His fingertips, having fallen prey to the kerchief less often, are still soft. It’s curious. He knows Reed was a miner for a time, a soldier too, has more under his belt in that respect than him, and yet he’s frail in these ways. 

Will swipes a remaining bit of salve over the heel of his palm, fighting back a smile when Reed’s nose scrunches at the woody scent of it. “Now the other.” Reed looks like he might refuse, perhaps from Will’s commandeering tone, but he puts the slab of meat in his bag and offers his left hand up. “So after this, I’m going looking for tracks. You stay here and keep watch.” He means only to say something for talking’s sake, because stupidly, he hopes that Reed likes his voice. Not likely, given the words they’ve exchanged in the past few weeks.

Reed reacts only with a scowl. “Don’t order me about, Eddy,” he says with his hand limp in Will’s grasp, and Will has to huff a laugh at the stark contrast. He doesn’t say anything though, and Reed says nothing more either, so he wipes his hands on his trousers and gets his rifle. Reed carefully sets his own gun in his lap and stays right where he is, coincidentally doing as he’s told and acting like he came by the idea himself.

Will leaves camp, heads down a nearby path to the west. Stepping strategically so as not to disturb the loose dirt, he combs through it and thinks. He laughs again at Reed’s insistence on not being bossed, the irony of it, then quiets, considering the state of his hands. He must be real worried. Likely about his food supply. Will frowns, thinks that even if the rest of them don’t ration, the Reeds will certainly have to. Christ. Maybe he shouldn’t have dismissed him out of hand, but at the time, it looked like a self-serving power grab when Donner was the fairly-elected captain. Now he doesn’t know what all Reed would have them do, but he thinks he’d trust his judgment.

But the man is as self-righteous as they come. Why Will would latch onto him, he still doesn’t know. Reed is starchy, egotistical, and anxiety-ridden. Not to mention his interest in a man who’s spent the better part of these last three months tormenting him. Snyder must have no idea, which is probably for the better. It doesn’t seem right that Reed would take a liking to someone like that. Eleanor says he’s jealous. That may be true, but if it were another man, he could at least understand. With Snyder, he’s left to wonder.

He clears his head of these thoughts. After a short walk, he comes across some deer tracks that look from a little while back. Not made today, but recently enough that he can have hope. Then his mind is drifting back to Reed and his smart suits and his light, nervous eyes and his lips bruised from how he bites at them. He has good in him. He has a good heart, and a good head when he wants to. That must be it, what Will sees in him. Otherwise he might say he just wants to see what Reed is like when he’s able to relax. Is he even able to at all? Might he be different when he bears no burden? Is such a thing possible?

He returns with news of signs of life to a seemingly empty camp. Before panicking, which would be especially likely after this recent bout of revelations, he thinks to open the tent flaps, and lo and behold, Reed is inside, curled up in his sack. “Christ! I told you to keep watch,” he scolds, raising his voice to wake the man, but he’s already up.

He twists around and kicks out of the bedroll, startled. “I’m sorry.” Will stupidly approaches him, going to size him up, if that’s the game he wants to play _. _ Instead, Reed shields his face and shins, shrinking into the corner of the tent like it could absorb him. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, and he sounds so harrowed that Will steps back from him immediately. Only now does he notice the wide, frantic eyes and defensive stance. “I felt ill,” he says as an explanation.

_ Be kind to him out there.  _ Oh, Eleanor would loathe him for this. “I… That’s alright. It’s alright.” Will kneels in the dirt so they’re at eye level with one another now that Reed’s no longer covering his face, but he still has his eyes trained on the ground. “Apologies for startling you, I reckoned you were asleep.” Reed nods as if to pardon him. “I’ll leave you be.”

He steps back out, tail between his legs, to sit on his tree stump and smoke. His hands are trembling slightly, and he shakes them out with a quiet curse. He doesn’t even know what he just ruined, or why he ruined it. And even worse, he’s thinking more on what he doesn’t know about Reed. He heads out with his rifle to try and find something small for them to eat, his pulse pounding the whole way for some reason. It’s just his luck that he crosses paths with a noisy grouse, loud enough to break his stupor, and gets it before it even notices his presence. The recoil feels good after not having had anything to shoot at in a while.

When Reed comes out for dinner, looking somewhat more well-rested, Will is going to apologize in better terms, but Reed speaks with him as if nothing happened, snappish and haughty as usual. He figures he’s forgiven- however much forgiveness is possible here- but he’s not certain he should be. He splits the bird’s meat between them, giving Reed a larger portion. The other man notices, as he looks with confusion between their ‘plates’- really just sheets of waxed paper- and opens his mouth to speak, but then decides against it. Will pretends not to notice his face flushing and eats his share quickly to get back to whittling a thicker branch he’s become attached to.

He brings it into the tent later, letting wood shavings fall on his lap as he tries to keep occupied. He is painfully aware that Reed has nothing to help with that, and also that neither of them can sleep. Reed, perhaps because of his rest during the day. Will, because he’s thinking too hard.

He puts his knife down with a huff, and Reed turns on his side, already laid out as if he’ll get any sleep now, to look at him. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. Earlier,” Will says.

He stiffens, brows drawing together. “I know.” Then he runs his tongue along his teeth, turns his eyes up toward the tent ceiling. “The bird was good.” Will breathes a sigh of relief. Reed understands what he was trying to do.

“Yeah.” He’s briefly allowed to stare right at him before he looks back, when he swiftly averts his gaze to the opening in the tent, what little he can see of the clearing under moonlight. “So you want us to ration our supplies?”

Reed rolls his eyes. “Don’t start with this again-”

“No, no, I’ll listen, I’m listening. What would we have to do?”

His look of utter shock is almost offensive before he remembers what he did the last time Reed mentioned the idea. “Well…” He turns on his back, anxiously wrings his still salve-slicked hands, although his handkerchief has stayed firmly in his pocket since then. Maybe he’s realized how painful it is, and maybe he won’t do it so much anymore. “Each head of household would make a tally of his family’s supplies, and we could determine how much or little to use each day, for the number of days until we reach California. And if we pool our resources, it would ensure that everyone will have enough to make it there.”

Will is embarrassed by the recollection of himself spitting at Reed’s feet for the very same suggestion early on, though he hadn’t understood it at the time, and he hadn’t known what he knows now. “You’re right.” Reed’s chest rises with his breath, and he’s staring again. “That would be the sensible thing to do.”

Reed pulls the quilt he’s stuffed into his sack up to his chin, groaning as he shifts. “Not that anyone would trust me to manage their food supply.”

“I would,” Will says, too eagerly, and he shrugs in a careless gesture afterward to play it off. “Now that I see… what you’re saying.” Now Reed is looking at him while he stares down at his lap instead of the other way around, and he can sense the wonder in his countenance. With how contrary they’ve all been to him, Will can’t blame him for his surprise. He only wishes the two of them wouldn’t have to be shocked by common sense, that he would have seen reason earlier. “I don’t trust Donner anymore,” he ventures, now meeting his eye. It feels good to express it beyond the worried glances he’s shared with Eleanor in the past few weeks, but it also seems like taking a gamble.

Reed meets him in the middle, sits up, tugs at the cuffs of his sleeves. “I- Me neither. I don’t know if I ever did.” Will hums at that. Fair.

They stay up late, talk sparsely about their horses and the state of their wagons, endeavor to wake up early. Which, unfortunately comes too easy to Will due to his self-enforced schedule at home. 

Reed stays asleep, bundled up for the cool night- although he’s soon to kick out of it as the heat of the morning rises- and Will doesn’t wake him, goes out to smoke his pipe at dawn before the sun has even hit their campsite. He comes back in later to fetch his rifle and search the grounds for anything new, even vegetation they might be able to take back, but it’s futile. When he’s exhausted everything else that could entertain him, he opens the tent flaps and watches Reed sleep from his alder stump where he can easily straighten up and out of sight if he needs to pretend like he isn’t snooping. The man is tense even in his rest, although he doesn’t make any faces or sounds that would suggest a nightmare. It’s just the line of his body taut with anxiety, practically motionless. Will frowns, imagining how he could soothe it, how he would unbutton that high collar of his and squeeze his shoulders until they loosened. 

One of his cuffs is undone, Will notices. Without another thought, he crawls inside to button it, a horrible, horrible excuse to touch Reed if he wakes up, but he doesn’t care. He makes an effort not to tug too much or loom over the other man in case he’s a light sleeper. And as he carefully hooks the button through its hole, he finds a blue bruise on the inside of his wrist, almost high enough that it doesn’t show inside the open slit. Just at the V where the hems meet, the blotchy coloring, stark on his pale skin, peeks out. His frown deepens. Does Reed hurt himself in other ways? Will knows that he often has a tight hold on his own wrist when he’s holding back from giving the people in camp what for, but it never seems to the point of injury.

He firmly rubs Reed’s shoulder, warm and rawboned as the rest of him, until he stirs. “C’mon, up with you.” It’s how Eleanor wakes him up from midday naps, and he figures he always rises easy from that. It’s the right thing to do. Reed relaxes under the touch before he opens his eyes, and even when he discovers who it is waking him, he remains placid, although he stiffens uncomfortably mid-way through stretching. In feeling this change, Will realizes his hand is still on Reed’s shoulder, and he draws back.

He regrets it when his companion sits up with a distant look. He can’t imagine that Reed gets much affection from anyone but his children here. And although he would prefer more than this, Will thinks a bit of brotherly favor and camaraderie could go a long way with him. But, he reminds himself, they don’t get enough time alone to ease into this. He still needs to ask about Snyder.

“There we go,” he says as Reed disentangles himself from his sack, surprised to find that the man’s slept in his trousers. He slips his straps on and begins a meticulous routine that nearly strikes Will as compulsion. Fixing his hair as well as he can without the handy mirror on his wagon door, washing his face with a bit of water they’d brought in the night before. Then he puts his neck stock on, something Will and the other men have long given up, wrapping it tightly before he pauses. His eyes flicker to Will, surely with the knowledge that he’s being watched. “I can tie it for you.”

He flushes, but offers the squared ends up. “Would you?” Will hums, takes the starched fabric in hand, tightens it on instinct like he would for himself before he remembers that Reed’s already done it. His breath hitches before Will grunts in apology and loosens it, beyond what he had before, which would have been punishingly rigid on its own. He starts to tie the ends into a ribbon-like bow. He prefers a knot himself, but he’s seen Reed doing it up in the morning often enough that he knows what he favors. Now when he looks up to Reed’s face, he finds him looking back, tight-lipped, wide-eyed, nostrils flaring. 

He surely must understand now. Will lingers as long as he dares, smoothing out and tugging the ends the way Reed does. “Not too bad?”

His expression is somewhere between awe and great upset as he fingers the neat bow at his neck. “Perfect, thank you,” he says quietly. Will wants to tip his chin up, kiss him, but instead he moves away.

“Well. I’ve got to clean my Yauger.” He gestures outside, starts to head toward the entrance.

“I think I’ll… I might take a walk. See if I can find anything.” They nod to each other, and Will ducks out to return to his perch and to start taking his rifle apart. It’s a bit longer for Reed to get ready, putting on his lawman coat and shoes. He comes out with his own rifle too, lacing shut the tent behind him. He doesn’t walk off at first, shuffling his feet in the dirt and tamping a bullet down the barrel.

Will is happy to note Reed’s attention is squarely focused on him as far as he can discern from the corner of his eye. Reed doesn’t catch his noticing, his gaze on the gun, or rather Will’s motions in taking it apart and greasing it. 

But he can’t stay long. It’s getting too hot out to linger.

Will keeps himself occupied as well as he can, but it seems like Reed’s gone for an eternity. His sudden departure had been an an obvious excuse to get away for a while; Reed doesn’t hunt as far as he’s seen. In reality, he’s away for most of the afternoon. He hears a crack or two and, thinking that Reed might be near, he perks up, only to slouch again when his companion doesn’t emerge.

Eventually, the dry brush finally gives way to his visage, slight and more relaxed than Will has seen him in weeks. He laughs incredulously. Reed’s carrying a hefty rabbit, his rifle slung over his shoulder. “Look at you,” he calls as Reed approaches, exultant at the sight of him more than the rabbit. He needs to temper himself, but he doesn’t. He’s never been good at it. Reed offers him a shy smile, and he knows he’s going to savor it when the other man sends him and his clumsy advances packing. “Christ, I should have known you’d try and put me to shame.” He is embarrassing.

“That’s quite a compliment coming from you,” Reed ventures as he sits on the opposite side of their firepit. 

“Well,” he demurs, but secretly he’s pleased beyond belief. Will gestures to the animal, which Reed has deposited on a rock beside him. “I can help you with that.” And he nods without hesitation, a complete turn-around from the day before, resentful and refusing help. It helps that Will is offering rather than ordering, but he likes to think their relationship has improved beyond that.

“I’ll let you take care of it. I’ve got some blood to clean out from my trousers.” He agrees, comes over to start skinning and sectioning it. Despite the size of the thing, it doesn’t take long for all of the edible meat to be cut into strips for drying or stored under a cool bucket, the bones going in with water on the fire for a stock. He’s done this often enough to be quick about it, although the animals here are certainly not like cottontails back home.

Still, it’s been a while for Reed to be inside. “Reed? It’s done.” He hopes to prompt the man back out of the tent to come and see what he’s accomplished. But he doesn’t respond. So Will wipes the blood off of his hands and unlaces the flaps again, peeking in hesitantly. “Reed,” he says, and finds him kneeling on his bedroll, his trousers already hanging up inside. He’s still in his shirtsleeves, but he’s got the fabric lifted on one side, looking down at one hip. But his head whips around when he hears Will’s voice. And as his eyes flick downward, he finds the reason for Reed’s occupation: a patch of bruises on either side, going up to his flank, the worst and darkest being around his knees.

He makes a small noise, lets his shirt down as they stare at each other. 

“You’re hurt.”

“Don’t.”

“Give me a moment.” He ducks his head back out of the tent, heading toward the stream with a towel. Will splashes water on his face, scrubbing hard, mind racing, before he dips the towel in as well. He understands, once he allows himself to, what has happened. The image puts itself together more easily than he’d like, the shapes of the marks on him too clear in Will’s head to disregard. He returns to find that Reed hasn’t left the tent yet, and isn’t making much noise inside. But he is there, hasn’t moved at all apart from draping his trousers over himself to cover up. Reed stares up at him, steeling himself, and Will tries to be tactful. “Would you lay out on your back?”

“Why?” Reed barks, more frightened than angry. He does it anyway, laying his body down gingerly over the thin padding that must not be giving him much comfort in the night. Will nudges the garment he’s holding in front of him away with only a huff from Reed and wraps the wet towel around one knee. It isn’t as cold as it should be, but it might settle the swelling a bit. Reed shivers, but his shoulders slacken as the fight goes out of him.

“What other bruises you got?”

Reed stares resolutely toward the sky, doesn’t speak for a while, and Will resigns himself to not getting an answer. “Wrists, stomach, and my collar a bit.”

“Alright.” He moves to his left knee, and Reed huffs again, this time fraught with tears.

“You don’t need to ask, do you? You know it?”

“Yeah.” Will keeps his hold light so as not to hurt him more, eyes on the ground and not on his stricken face. “Don’t fret. I wouldn’t say anything.” He removes one hand to take Reed’s and squeeze it. “You don’t deserve this.”

He looks down in surprise before laying his head back down. “It’s what I’ve got,” he says quietly like a rebuttal, but his hand, still rough from his scrubbing, stays in Will’s grasp.

He shakes his head. “And you don’t deserve it. Christ.” He takes a break to wet the cloth again in the stream as it warms, but also to seethe alone while he can. When he returns, Reed has opened his shirt to show the bit of mottled skin around his neck and collar bone. He hums, starts there this time. The other man shudders at the cold. “It’s him, ain’t it? Snyder?”

Reed’s eyes go wide. “Is it so obvious?’

“No, not unless-” Will manages to shut his mouth before admitting aloud how often he watches Reed, how much he’s observed of him. “Not to anyone else.” That’s confession enough for now, and he’s sure Reed will parse it out.

“What do you want?”

Will looks down at him, finding misery in his eyes, and doesn’t want to answer. “I want you to be safe.”  _ With me. _

He speaks almost as if he hasn’t heard what Will said. “You don’t like me, do you?”

“I do, I like you a good bit.” Reed stares at him, and it reminds him so much of Eleanor’s skeptic looks that he has to look away a moment. “I don’t act like it, I know. But I do. And I want to make it up to you.”

Reed blinks, then closes his eyes for a long stretch so that Will can barely tell if he’s awake before they flutter open again. “Tell me.” Then it’s Will blinking in confusion as Reed takes up one of his hands again. But he does understand eventually, Reed’s expression distantly pleading and his fingers entwined with Will’s.

“You’ll be safe, I’ll make sure of it. No one will bother you or nothing, not even him.” His voice drops to a murmur. “And I’ll take care of your hands.” He slowly lowers himself beside Reed on the ground, leaning up over him, propped on one elbow. “And I’ll give Keseberg and the Breen boys a piece of my mind,” he says, prompting Reed to laugh, but he quiets as Will moves closer. “I’ll- I’ll get you more food, and-“ They meet in the middle as his mumbling trails off, lips gently pressing together. Will kisses him just like Eleanor said, and he can feel Reed’s tremors calm under him as he nudges closer. “What do  _ you _ want?” he throws back once they’ve parted.

Reed bites his lip, extends a hand down his own side and halts. His handkerchief is in his coat pocket, out of reach. “I haven’t thought about it.” Will sits up and back on his ankles, and Reed sits up to follow him, more quickly than he should. “I mean- I want- you know.”

“Tell me,” he repeats, sober now.

Reed’s shoulders raise. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s awful. It’s not right.” He shakes his head, and Will balks. How Reed can think that Snyder’s violence against him is justified, but can’t permit himself to speak his mind for fear of wrongness… “Do you see? With him, it isn’t a choice.” He purses his lips, rubs self-consciously at his wrist. “Anymore, at least.”

Will tries not to blow up at him, or let it be known how great an offense it is that Reed would rather have his hand forced by another man than to take him willingly. “I  _ don’t _ see. I would have you choose. There ain’t nothing awful about you,” he says, words clipped and flinty.

Reed straightens, his eyes wide and indignant, his mouth screwing up like he might speak. Instead, only a bitten-off exhale comes out, and his gaze lowers, shifting over the dirt floor. His expression is one of surprise when he starts to cry. It does seem to come on suddenly, and Will is just as shocked, flounders before hugging the man to his chest. He doesn’t hush him. Reed is quiet enough already, and Will hates to think he’s likely had an abundance of practice. “Tell me, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He guides Reed onto his back again, pushes hair from his face.

He wipes his eyes and looks up at Will. Seeing Reed’s face so open and vulnerable when he hides so much is enough to get his heart racing. “I want you, I do,” he says finally, lips barely moving.

“What do you want from me? I’ll do it, whatever you want.”

He looks up at Will like his face might have the right answer on it, shamefaced. “If you would- I can’t- would you hold me?” Will nods, careful to avoid the bruising when he moulds himself to Reed’s side and wraps both arms about his middle. Reed turns toward him so they’re nose-to-nose and closes his eyes. “And… kiss me again.” Will smiles at his stroke of boldness and ducks back in to follow through. Like this, he can almost pretend they’re well and truly alone, like Snyder isn’t a phantasm over it all.

Reed sighs when he pulls away. “You’ll be gentle, won’t you?” 

“Gentle with what?” They stare at each other for a moment before it strikes him like a lightning rod. “We can’t.” The other man tenses. “I want to, but we can’t. You’re hurt; we have to wait till you’ve healed.”

“But I won’t ever be healed if I keep getting them,” Reed tells him ruefully, and Will feels tears well up in his eyes. Reed must see this emotion, even though it’s not his fault, and paws at his chest in sympathy, just over his heart. “Maybe if I go to him less, he won’t get the notion to pursue me as often?” They both know that’s not going to happen.

“I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him.” He sees now that Reed sitting ramrod straight whenever Snyder spoke and shyly avoiding his gaze was never an indication of interest, but instead one of fear. “It’ll be an accident.” Reed’s shoulders raise now, a suggestion of a laugh. “I mean it. And I’ll tell him who it’s for.”  _ James _ , he’ll say then, not Reed.

“It isn’t worth the trouble.”

Will is cautious when he tightens his grip so he can haul Reed up on top of him. This, he thinks, will be easier on Reed’s tired body than staying on his side. “It’s no trouble if it’s for you,” he murmurs, and Reed gives him no response but for a few more tears that drip onto Will’s shirt. 

They stay like that until late in the evening, although the summer sun has barely set. Will eventually has to get up and relieve himself, assuring Reed that he’ll be back soon. But when he returns, he’s got his clothing back on, his collar done up again, and his posture rigid. He returns Will’s kiss and lets himself be held again, his eyes still red, but there’s something else on his mind. 

“What is it?”

“Nothing, I just thought we might eat.” Will translates that he’s hungry after having walked all day, and he nods, taking out some of the meat. It’s been kept fairly cool where he left it, still fine to put over the grate. 

While it’s cooking, he takes a blanket out from his bedroll and drops it in front of his stump, gestures for Reed to sit there. He does, knees pulled up to his chest as he watches the fire, and Will can already picture the hard look on his face, can already hear a question of why he’s sitting on the ground between Will’s legs. He strokes his hair, feels Reed relax a little, rubbing his shoulders and reaching around him to undo his collar. Now that he knows what kind of marks lay there, Will thinks it must be painful how tight he usually has it.

“What’s the blanket for?”

“You don’t wanna have to clean a second pair of trousers, do you? Just sit a while.”

Reed snorts softly, lays his head against Will’s inner thigh, reaching out to turn the rabbit when he feels necessary. Will doesn’t pay attention, finding excuses to touch him, stroking knuckles down his spine or picking a hair out from his shirt collar. “What are you doing, Eddy?”

“Why don’t you call me Will?”

Reed presses back into his touch, even as Will can tell he’s rolling his eyes. “Will. It’s James then.” He hums, satisfied, when he hears it. “What are you doing?”

He shrugs, kneading at Reed’s- James’- shoulders. “You’re so tense. Even when you’re sleeping, it’s like you’re always ready to run. Nothing to run from here.”

“There’s always something to run from,” he murmurs testily and sits forward out of Will’s arms. “Rabbit’s done.” He picks both pieces off of the fire and onto his wax paper to cool, then fortunately settles back in with the meat safely packed beside him so that Will can continue. “You’re not going to stop me running.”

“No, no. I know that.” Will, even as he says it, is picturing James and Eleanor as walking companions, sees James coming home to him. “I just think you ought to have something to run to, hm?” He’s silent, puts his hand on Will’s knee, exhaling shakily. James leans into him like he can’t help it, and maybe he can’t. “I wanna make it easier for you.”

“Why?

Will bends to press a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re a good man. And I’m sweet on you.” James rushes to turn around, kneeling in front of him. “You’re gonna hurt your knees,” he protests faintly, but it either isn’t heard or isn’t acknowledged.

“Come back down here.”

“Don’t boss me.” He leans forward to kiss him anyway, presses James to himself as well as he can while looming over him like this. The man kisses so desperately, like it’s the last time they’ll see each other, and that just won’t do. Will doesn’t release him until he’s worn out and his lips can barely move. Even then he doesn’t let go. He slides off the stump and onto the blanket in front of James, the two of them pressed close. Will gestures to the paper bundle. “Let’s eat while it’s still warm. Haven’t had a bite all day.” James rolls his eyes.

They sit and eat on the same side of the fire. It’s greasy, and although Will doesn’t mind, James’ stomach is sensitive. He chews a bit slower, and Will brings him a mugful of the stock to make it more palatable. Maybe he is ill. Ill with stress, even, or pain. He has to think the bruises are fresh, and that long walk in the heat couldn’t have helped any. Will brings his knuckles up to feel his forehead, then his cheek, when he comes back with the mug and puts it in James’ hands.

“You said you felt ill yesterday?”

He takes a sip and looks into the crackling fire. “Worn out, mostly. And I just don’t think about eating, or I can’t keep it down. I’m… I’m just troubled. Not sick, as far as you’re concerned.”

“What matters is you’re not well. And I want to help.” Will tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “If you’ll let me.”

“How?”

“Have you got anybody to tell when you’re worried stiff? Or to talk about him?” He’s quiet, shakes his head. “That’s how.” He nods now, and Will is glad that James is allowing him to take this role. He’s been told he’s a good listener. “And Eleanor can get more of the salve for you so you’ll heal faster.”

James pales. “Your wife.”

“What about her?”

“You have her, and you’re here with me.”

Will scoffs. “You have Margaret, but I know that don’t stop you.” He recoils at that, and Will makes another noise, cross with himself. He takes James’ hand in his. “No, listen to me. If you can’t love each other, you’ve got to find it somewhere. Nothing wrong with that. Eleanor and I… it’s different. She knows what I’m doing here. Or she hopes she knows.” James blinks. “I love her, and she knows I- how I feel about you. She  _ wanted _ me to come out with you, for Christ’s sake.”

“You- I- you enjoy women as well?”

“Yeah. Do you?” James brings his knees to his chest and looks up at Will guiltily, then back at the fire, and that’s answer enough. “Plenty of fellows don’t. Nothing to be ashamed of.” Sure, he doesn’t know ‘plenty’ outside of a druggist’s son in Providence and a few other carpenters back in Illinois but he imagines they’re just a small sampling of many. 

James looks back at him sharply. “Do you know why?” Will flounders a moment. He’s never been one to ponder on the reasoning for his attraction, or anybody else’s for that matter, but he’s beginning to see why James might. He settles next to him, keeping one hand cupping James’ while slinging the other arm across his shoulders, and tries to make something up.

“I don’t think there’s a reason. People like all sorts of different things, don’t they? Why, I overheard Mr. Dolan saying he only meets with women taller than him.”

James snorts at the anecdote with a disbelieving tilt of his brow. But he considers the meaning behind it, at least, and his upset lessens. “Then your wife… How can she know about this?”

“Because I told her. We had this discussion many moons ago, before the wagon train, that either of us might feel for someone else, and there’d be no purpose in curbing it.” The truth is, even knowing the same rules apply for her, Will wonders sometimes if it isn’t a selfish arrangement on his part. Even knowing that Eleanor subscribes to the same philosophy, practices it herself even. But he doesn’t dwell on it, knowing what she thinks of his misplaced guilt.

“She… has someone else as well?”

“Yes.”

“And you approve of it?”

“Yes.”

He struggles with this a moment, idly pushes a loose branch into the fire with his foot until it catches. “You make it sound so easy.”

“You make it look so hard.” James smiles then, bitterly, and Will directs his chin with his thumb and forefinger until they can kiss. “I know there’s more to it for you,” he says gently when he draws away before returning. “But there doesn’t have to be. It can be easy. I can make it easy.”

James fists his hands in the front of Will’s shirt, head down between them. “Then show me.” His gaze flickers up, consuming eyes ablaze. “Show me.”

Will encourages James into his lap, carefully keeping him off his knees as much as possible, and pulls him into a warm embrace. “Alright. Let me just tell you something.” Nosing at his cheek, Will lingers there until he finds the right words. “You don’t need to hurt to make up for enjoying yourself.” He stiffens. “Listen to me. Don’t have me do this so you can skin yourself alive for it.”

He doesn’t deny the possibility, but solemnly shakes his head in understanding. “I’m not, I won’t.” Will slips his braces off his shoulders, and James sways in for a kiss as Will opens up his trousers. As he’s working at it without sight- still kissing James like a man possessed- it takes longer than he’d have liked, but he manages to work a hand in to touch him. “Aren’t you going to-”

“Let me just think about you.” James flushes at that, and he withdraws to spit in his palm before realizing that he has the salve somewhere on him still. While he’s patting himself down, he’s momentarily distracted by the way James reverently unbuttons his vest and shirt, but his search returns triumphant with the tin from his back pocket. “Touch me; you can if you want,” Will breathes to him, mouthing under his ear before he gets back to work. James nods gratefully before running his small, warm hands up the exposed line of his chest, up to his shoulders.

The man opens his mouth and turns away in shame. “He never lets me-”

“I know. You get whatever you want with me.” He bites his lip, his eyes filling with tears. Will holds him close with one hand on his back, the other now greased well enough that he doesn’t feel like it’ll be scouring away at him. “There we are,” Will hears himself sigh at the feeling of James’ cock in his hand. It’s akin to how he felt dressing the rabbit, or cooling James’ bruised skin in the tent. Like he’s giving both of them relief, making himself useful. He doesn’t want anything more than he wants to be a relief for James. He’ll be good at it, the best, even though he knows that isn’t much of a feat. Will listens to his quavering moans and frees his left hand to take up one of James’ and kiss it like he would a lady. “How is that?”

“Good, it’s good,” he pants, rocking into Will’s fist. He’s quiet, maybe out of habit, and Will sets his cheek against James’ to listen better. This way he can feel the other man’s shuddery breaths against his ear.

“Such a sweet thing, aren’t you,” he says, a question he doesn’t intend to be answered. James’ lashes flutter as he closes his eyes, lost in the sensation and the words, of which Will has plenty to offer. James gingerly takes possession of his hand in both of his own, holding it to his chest. “You like it? Having my hands on you?” He slots their lips together hungrily as James nods, and pulls back to study him. “What else do you like? Tell me.” He punctuates this with a raised knee between James’ legs, sliding him closer and giving him something to rub down on.

“I don’t-” He must bite his tongue or the inside of his cheek instead of speaking, and Will is about to encourage him further when James pulls the hand on his chest up to circle his own neck. It’s high up enough, above any of the bruises, that Will feels comfortable squeezing gently. James bucks his hips, breath catching as if shocked. “Yes. Like that.”

He nods. “I’ll be gentle.” And he is. Careful as can be so as not to leave a mark or hurt him any. James has a loose hold on his wrist maybe to keep him there, maybe to warn him if his grip gets too tight. But the bit of pressure that shortens his breath is enough to satisfy him, whining and frantic. If Will’s interest hadn’t stirred before, he surely couldn’t avoid it now with James writhing in his lap. “Look at you, sweetheart,” he croons, leaning in to kiss and nip at his lips until they’re completely yielding. “Look at you.” James’ hands have migrated back to his bare chest, pushing at him without force, and Will knows he’ll have to pull away shortly to see when he comes. And he manages just in the nick of time, also drawing his hand from James’ throat right as his lips part on a soft moan.

“Will-” His brows, knit together taut in concentration, relax just as Will feels his prick twitch and weep in his hand, and he only sees it for a second before James makes to cling onto him, head over his shoulder as he whimpers and shakes. But he’ll remember that look for a while, he thinks, dark in the shadows cast on him by the fire. The absence of worry, of hurt in it. He’s proud to help with unburdening him, at least for a moment.

James gasps and jerks as Will gives his cock a final squeeze to see if he can coax more out of him, swiping a drop of wetness from the head and licking it off of his thumb. When they aren’t pressed flush to each other Will can see that he still looks out of it, which is frankly for the better, but he has the mind to make a scandalized noise on seeing Will cleaning the rest of his hand in a similar fashion. He tucks James back into his pants, then unbuttons his own before James can ask to do it himself. Now he doesn’t speak, working single-mindedly toward his own end, James’ breath hot on his cheek as he looks on with wide eyes.

Will captures his open mouth in a deep kiss, and he can’t help the satisfied rumble that escapes him with how sweetly James falls into it. Then he presses his face tight to James’ neck, feverish, the slightest edge of teeth digging into the skin there, and releases with a loud groan. He would take a moment to be embarrassed over how little time it took to get him there, but he’s occupied staring at the crook of James’ shoulder as if he might be able to manifest an invisible claim there with his eyes. 

“You should’ve let me,” he says as he catches his breath and as Will’s fixation lessens. 

Will nudges him back, lifts him by his thighs to transfer him back onto the blanket. “You’ll get another chance.” James huffs and stands to dust himself, reaching a hand out to help Will up too. He waves him off. “Sweetheart, I’d pull you down with me.” He must weigh twice as much as him, and James knows it, but he starts off to the tent, indignant, anyway. With a smile, Will follows to find him getting ready for bed and taps him, gesturing toward his own sack. “Why don’t you sleep there with me tonight?”

James looks between him and the proffered space, still in good spirits but confounded. “I don’t need that.”

“Well maybe I do. Might have a nightmare or something, hm?” He wraps his arms about James’ waist, easy as anything, and feels him relax into the touch. Will just isn’t ready to give him back up yet. “Maybe I wanna have you again in the morning.”

“Do you?”

“You’ll find out. Let me hold you tonight, at least.”’

James rolls his eyes, but his look’s gone soft. “Alright.” Will kisses him in gratitude and starts to pull up his bedroll. “What in God’s name are you doing?” He doesn’t get an answer as Will tucks the roll under his own and stuffs James’ fancy eiderdown pillow into it. After the setup is complete, he turns back to lead James over.

“You’re always shifting over there without no cushioning. You’ll be comfortable like this.” With a pillow between the hard ground and the worst of his bruising, he should ache a little less. James seems to realize this as he inspects it and glances up at him, marveling, which makes Will uncomfortable. So he turns James toward him and starts to unbutton his pants. “No use keeping these on now that I’ve seen it all,” he mutters, knowing those eyes are fixed on him still. “You’ll get hot.” Once he’s stepped out of his pants, he clambers into Will’s bedroll and watches on quietly as he gets himself ready to sleep.

It’s not until he’s tucking in next to James’ slight form that the man finally speaks again. “You’ve been calling me sweetheart.”

“Yeah. You don’t like it?”

“No, I- I just wondered why.”

Will turns toward him, strokes his hair. “It’s funny. Eleanor doesn’t like it too much, hasn’t since we were engaged. I still call her things like that sometimes, if I wanna push my luck. Then she calls Jim and Maggie ‘ducky’. Don’t make sense to me.”

James blinks. He has to see what it means now. “Oh. It’s just her then?”

“And now you.” Will kisses his forehead, enfolds James in his arms. “Tomorrow, let’s catch a deer, huh? I want to bring back something big, be able to tell ‘em you shot it.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly, and after a pause, he tilts his head up for a kiss on the mouth before tucking himself against Will’s chest. He doesn’t shift in discomfort once as he drifts off with a gentle hand rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. Will closes his eyes only when he knows James is asleep, glad to have him close, to have a good story for Eleanor when he gets back. Eventually, he’ll have a plan too, as to how he can make this trip easier on James. How he’ll make sure those bruises are the last ones Snyder gives him.

But all of that can come in the morning.


End file.
